


Good Neighbors

by ethereousdelirious



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Gen, POV Third Person, Platonic Relationships, Sickfic, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:15:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9209642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethereousdelirious/pseuds/ethereousdelirious
Summary: Nick is supposed to ask Daisy over for tea so Jay can reconnect with her. He comes down with the flu instead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this was based on, of all things, a SparkNotes practice test. (The question was something along the lines of "What happens before Daisy comes to tea that makes Gatsby so nervous?" One of the incorrect answers was "Nick catches the flu" and I couldn't resist writing this.  
> This fic is canon-compliant and my intent was to sort of slip it in the timeline of the story.

Nick had intended to call up Daisy from work the following day, but as it turned out, he never made it that far. He awoke sometime in the early morning with a sort of shivering cough lurking in his chest. By daybreak, he was forced to accept that he would have to spend the day in bed, or at least in the house. Fever hung over his shoulders like a cloak. The sun was coming up and with it, the promise of unforgiving summer heat. He called in to work and then returned to bed.

Nick didn’t know how long he spent lying on top of the covers shivering in that liminal space between dreams and reality before he got up again. He survived his most violent coughing fit yet and staggered to his living room to telephone Gatsby.

After a brief (and somewhat hoarse) conversation with the butler, Gatsby’s voice came through. “What is it, old sport?” he asked, and Nick could hear the note of anxiety in his cool, clear voice.

“I'm awfully sorry, but I won't be able to ask Daisy over for a couple of days.” Nick’s breath caught in his chest. He cleared his throat and continued, “I'm coming down with something.”

“You're sick?”

“Well, I--” His reply was choked out by another string of coughing.

Gatsby seemed to take this as an answer. “I’ll send someone right over.” He hung up before Nick could protest.

Nick rolled over on the couch, picturing a doctor in a robin’s egg blue coat marching over his unkempt lawn. The image was so absurd that he laughed out loud. Then it twisted and there were ribbons of blue and pink slithering across his white ceiling. It was all blurred at the edges, as though his sitting room was nothing more than a vignette, and he was both the subject and the viewer.

A short knock at the door startled him into sitting up, but the room spun and began to fade away. When he had finally got his bearings, Gatsby was standing in front of him with a curious look on his face. 

“I'm alright,” Nick said, slightly embarrassed 

“Of course you are, old sport, of course you are,” Gatsby said agreeably. He pressed the back of his hand to Nick’s forehead. “When did this come on? You seemed fine last night.” He looked at Nick with concern, as though he had had missed some vital sign last that would have prevented this from happening.

“Sometime in the early morning,” Nick replied. The summer sun was shining in through the windows, but he shivered and pulled his arms in close. It seemed that every part of him was in some vague, immeasurable amount of pain. The ceiling turned to liquid and began to imitate the boiling ocean in a fierce storm.

There was a smart rap at the door. “Who--” Nick started, but Gatsby shushed him.

“Don't get up.”

He left Nick there, bewildered and dizzy. When Gatsby came back, there was a gleaming silver tray balanced in his hands. He set it on the coffee table.

“I had someone send a over a few things,” he explained. At Nick’s questioning look, he clarified, “Soup, orange juice, and a bottle of whiskey.”

Nick’s face heated up. “You didn’t have to--”

“I know, old sport, I wanted to.”

Nick moved to sit up, but he got no further than halfway. His vision blurred until the whole room went gray. Distantly, he felt himself falling.

A strong and steady arm caught him around the shoulders. “Steady there.” Gatsby lowered him into a reclining position. Nick realized with embarrassment that Gatsby had sat down and his head was in his lap.

“I’m sorry to put you to all this trouble,” Nick said with his eyes closed.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Gatsby assured him. Nick couldn’t see it, but he imagined Gatsby was smiling down at him. Comforted by this, he fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> While I don't consider this my best work, I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Thanks for reading!


End file.
